America x Reader- KissMore Like This
I sat there on the couch with a bag of Hershey kisses, munching away happily when
Alfred walked into the room.
"Whatcha doin, [Name]?"
I looked over at him. "Watching TV." I held the bag up. "Kiss?"
"Sure! I guess I could go for one."
I began to rifle around in the bag for a candy, not noticing the blonde sitting down beside me and leaning over.
I stared at him in confusion. "What are you-"
I was cut off by him pressing his lips against mine for a quick kiss before pulling away and laughing at my shocked expression. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.
With a face as red as a tomato, I yelled, "I MEANT THE CANDY, NOT THE REAL THING YOU JERK!"
Still laughing, he fled the scene as I threw several of the candies at his
What the heck!?
Sighing and running my fingers through my hair, I smiled to myself, blushing slightly.
It was hard not to love him~!
How To Be NormalMore Like This
HOW TO SUCCEED AT BEING A NORMAL TEENAGER:
(In 15 easy steps!)
1. The first step in becoming a normal, bland, and spineless individual is very simple. Never think. About anything. Ever. If you have a thought, let it go. Let someone else think for you. Thinking is hard. Let someone else do it. Save your little conformist brain cells for something less difficult.
2. Now let's talk about music. You like unique music? Not anymore! You get to listen to the same generic, repetitive sound that everyone else does. You know, that one beat over and over with the words "Yeah", "baby" and "ooh" being repeated. Lucky you!
3. To be normal, you've gotta dress normal. If you're a girl, that means you wear leggings as pants and cut up your t-shirts so they just barely cover your chest. Uggs are a must, for any time of the year, including midsummer. If you're a guy, you wear the hem of your pants on the back of your knees. Overly violent band t-shirts for bands that you only know one song for is highly
Wednesdays24601? I grumble, and my therapist laughs at me.More Like This
I can’t help but grin. Seen that movie twice already,
how else can I answer “Who Am I”?
There’s a crinkle to her eyes when she talks of my
humor. Let them see, she says, and I fiddle with my cap
twisted in my hands, brown and scratchy ‘neath my gnawed-on-torn fingernails
Rain on fresh paint, damp heat in a cluttered chair. I’m
twenty-two and take six pills, I say. I roll my face around on the keyboard and
words come out and sometimes I call that writing.
I watch insects click on sallow hotel lights, fat lonely ladies at the 3am drive-thru,
neon glistening in oil puddles. I’m that brassy tarnished doorknob you once
cut your finger on, the old man with whiskey on his trousers who loves a young girl or so
You have white scars.
I have white scars.
I’m not very serious ‘bout it all. Makes me a terrible poet,
I say, and gnaw on my knuckles.
You can’t really fake moments
Gifting (a poem for Jo)There’s this question tonight, and I’ve been asking the snowdrops—or asking to my fingernails,More Like This
to tape and ribbon, to the ceramic baby Jesu in the straw manger
with his black dot eyes
sky and savior, how do I go about giving to a stranger? all I’ve seen of you are flashes, glimpses
pixels, text, no flesh or fluttered laugh. All I’ve seen of you
is the kindness reached through miles and roads and circuitry, how you take time
and giving, only asking for a bit of
ticking down to Christmas Day and I’m frantic to scrape these few words (some meager gift of a
moment) into enough of a pile, some same kind of feeling that I cupped this morning
when I saw no nice dresses to wear. I’m fingering my budget and my limited talent,
and even if it makes no difference, who will love me less for wearing jeans, and I can’t think you’d fault
me for a poem that’s terrible even if it is.
because a gift is a gift:
tonight, I am smilin
dear teen meDear Sarah,More Like This
Remember that time you tried to top yourself by hiding under the covers? That was hilarious. I remember you tugging at the edges of the blanket and praying, without a shred of scientific evidence, that the lack of oxygen would be enough to kill you. You sat under there for something like fifteen minutes before you gave up and went to make a sandwich. But while you were under there, choking a little on your pillow because you never washed your sheets, I remember you thought someone was watching. Someone who understood your suffering. Someone who understood you.
Kid, that was me. And I've got two words for you: man up. Life can get a whole lot harder than this. Before too much longer, it's going to. And by the time you get to my age, you're going to be glad.
Why were you
Male!Belarus x Reader - Russian Roulette *AE*RUSSIAN ROULETTEMore Like This
Pairing: Male!Belarus x (slightly Insane) Reader
Warning: just don't do this at home.
Rating: PG! 13
How about a game with me?
Will you entrust yourself to destiny?
Completely fed up with you,
I have no idea what goes through your mind.
"How about we play a game Nikolai?" you asked sweetly, smiling at your so called boyfriend who had you wrapped around his figure. You sat on his lap, your index finger twirling around the cold piece of metal wildly. A revolver with no bullets.
"What game, дорогая?" Nikolai asked, turning his head to you. His lips pursued into a thin line. A normal expression that you have come to despise. You hated when he calls you 'дорогая' or simply translated as 'love'.
"Will you entrust yourself to destiny?" you quoted, avoiding his question. You twirled the black revolver quicker in the tri
England X Prankster! Reader X RussiaIt was October 30th and you walked silently down the halls of your school. You were dressed in black from head to toe and carried a large duffel bag full of “surprises”. Yes, that's right, you were going to set up pranks and sabotage your school the day before Halloween. What could you say? You were a bit of a bad girl and were, in no way, a 'rule follower'.More Like This
You first went to your math class, one of your least favorite classes.
You pulled a bobby pin out of the bun in your hair and picked the lock to the class room and let yourself in.
You set your duffel bag of “fun” on a desk at the front of the class room and you got to work.
First, you pulled out three cans of bright pink silly string. You Filled your teacher's file cabinets and desk drawers with it, covering all important papers with wet pink string, simply ruining all of them.
Next, you picked the lock of the bottom drawer of one of the filing cabinets. This was where your teacher kept all of your tests, y